Page 17 of Married With Lies

“Have you already asked everyone there is to ask?”

“I asked my father. I asked Baylor. I suppose I could go stand on the buffet table and scream out a general plea but I have a feeling that won’t be well received.”

“You haven’t asked me.”

Him? The idea of asking Cale Connelly for anything more significant than the time of day never crossed my mind.

He waits, eyeing me with patience. He’s not smiling and I have no reason to believe he’s joking. All the negative thoughts I’ve ever had about Cale dissolve like fog in a ray of sunshine and words begin tumbling out of my mouth.

“Cale, I would give you a complete accounting for every single penny. I swear. And I can show you exactly what kind of work we do and of course you are welcome to fly to Colorado and tour the ranch yourself. Currently we have ten cats, five rabbits and thirty-three dogs. You can even stay at the house if you want to. We have guest rooms.”

I’m practically hyperventilating at this point.

Cale hasn’t even blinked while I was running my mouth. That’s probably not true. I’m just distracted. Those inscrutable green eyes are still attached to a human and humans blink constantly.

However, it is unnerving the way he just continues to stare in silence.

More beats of silence pass and I struggle with the urge to poke him in the arm to make sure he’s not daydreaming.

Cale doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to end the silence and now I’m worried I’m failing to impress him in a crucial way. Perhaps he’s waiting for something more heartfelt than audit promises and animal lists.

“Any amount helps,” I say. “And just the fact that you’re willing to donate to the ranch truly means the world to me.”

There is a rather thorny question about where those funds might be coming from. Nobody’s ever given me a list of Amato family business ventures but it doesn’t take much imagination to conclude that much of their wealth has shady origins. I certainly can’t come right out and ask. That would be impolite.

While I cringe inwardly and grapple with my conscience, Cale rediscovers his voice.

“I’m not,” he says and finally breaks eye contact to drain the rest of his champagne glass.

I watch his throat bob. He can even make swallowing look sexy.

“You’re not what?”

Cale sets the glass down. “Not willing to donate. Or give you a loan.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope.”

All positive thoughts about Cale are revoked. Maybe this is how he has fun, by raising hopes and then dashing them to smithereens.

Not cool, not cool at all.

If there’s one thing I’ve had enough of today, it’s people who are not cool.

Plus he’s landed a blow at a particularly vulnerable moment. I’d like to hurl his spicy smelling jacket in his smug face and declare that his tattoos look stupid.

The last part isn’t really true but why does that matter?

A sexy jerk is still a jerk.

But I can’t afford to make a scene, and anyway, I have class. Plus I don’t want to end up sleeping with the fishes or whatever these gangster types do when someone annoys them.

As Cale gazes at me with an expression close to amusement, I gather the shreds of my dignity and stand up just so I can look down on him.

“You’ll have to excuse me now.”

This dude really must have supernatural reflexes. I don’t even get to take a step before my chair connects with the back of my knees and I’m plunked back down where I started.

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